


Addict to his Grace

by graceofcastiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Demon Dean Winchester, M/M, and not the good kind of angst, have fun dying, this is basically just pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 11:38:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2268312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graceofcastiel/pseuds/graceofcastiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Dean Winchester, you serve Abbadon. You are worthless, you are pathetic, you are poison. Your name is Dean Winchester and you serve me. Your only purpose is to capture and kill Sam Winchester and the angel Castiel, along with anyone who stands in your way. You are not merciful, you are not compassionate. You are poison.</p><p>_______</p><p>In which Dean becomes a demon under Abbadon's command in exchange for his brother's life. Then he returns to them, a human-shaped mess of trauma fighting a never-ending war between the demon and hunter inside of him. Some damage can't be undone, some ties can't be cut, and Dean's starting to realize that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Addict to his Grace

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this ages ago, back when we didn't know about the demon cure. Forgive me for not changing it, but I really couldn't be bothered.
> 
> Also, this happens to be my first published fic ever! I've never really had the guts to share them, so you fuckers better be grateful.

They weren't entirely sure how it had happened. It'd been a run-of-the-mill hunt; the two Winchesters had tracked down a Wendigo, hiding in an abandoned mineshaft. But somewhere between smoking the sucker and their celebratory lying-through-their-asses-to-the-cops, a new monster had joined in the fun. 

Dean's relief over the Wendigo's death had lasted all of three seconds, before he turned around in time to see Abbadon holding his brother. He'd reached for the demon blade, tried to make a run for Sam, but the bitch was gone before either of the brothers could utter a word. 

 

Dean was left alone, standing beside the burning remains of some carnivorous monster, unable to conjure the strength to even make an attempt at leaving. So Dean did what he always did; he called upon his angel, and Castiel did what he always did; he appeared, touched Dean's shoulder with that pitiful blue-eyed gaze of his, and sent the hunter back to the bunker. 

 

If Abbadon had been hard to hunt down before, then she was damn near impossible to find now. Castiel did everything in his power to search the earth for her, Dean hit the books --- with a pang of remorse, books were supposed to be his little brother's thing --- and then he hit the bottle. For days, the only words uttered in the bunker was when Dean drunkenly swore out loud, or when Castiel reappeared to cross off another part of the world.

________________________

It took less that a week for Dean to put himself back in the firing line. It was easier when Sam had been trapped in the cage with the archangels, at least then he'd known exactly where his brother was, but this? He didn't have a fucking clue where his brother was, or what was happening to him, or if he was even alive. So he did what he did best, and he got absolutely shitfaced. Then he hunted demons.

 

When Castiel returned to the bunker, only to find that the hunter was gone --- leaving a messily scrawled note saying _gone to go kill a fucker_ that smelled of spilt whiskey --- he knew better than to try search for him. Dean needed to hunt, needed to clear his head and stab something evil. The angel had rebuilt Dean inside and out, he knew how Dean managed his grief. So he kept looking for the younger Winchester, vowing that he would find Sam before Dean tried to do something like sell his soul.

 

He finally found a trail, but only because Abbadon had left it there for him to see. She'd killed fourteen school children; with their blood she painted pictures upon the classroom walls and on their bones she carved Enochian words, not the protective symbols that marred Dean and Sam's ribs, but directions. While the deaths made his insides coil in rage, it was terror that had overridden his body. Because he could feel the telltale signs of Dean's presence, the mark of the Righteous Man, but a day old and fading fast. He knew the hunter had already caught Abbadon's scent, and the thought of Dean out stalking a Knight of Hell on his own was terrifying in its own way. 

 

Dean didn't have any idea how close his angel was, a mere few minutes away from his location. He stood in the mineshaft where the search had first began. They'd come here many times since Sam's kidnapping, but now Abbadon stood in front of him. Sam himself was keeled over on the ground, bloodied and unable to even crawl towards Dean. A surge of anger seized his body at the sight of his wounded brother, and he snarled profanity at the demon.

 

Abbadon smiled with blood-red lips, black eyes taking in every inch of the hunter, pausing on the demon blade that Dean held. "Oh come _on_ , darling. We all know exactly how this going to end." She crooned with that sickly sweet voice of hers. And she was right, Dean knew what was going to happen. Abbadon had threatened to throw Sam back into the cage and Dean was going to make sure that didn't happen. So he threw the knife on the ground, watching it slide across the dirt to stop next to his younger brother. Sam watched on with tears in his eyes, screaming in his head for Dean to run, choking on his own blood. 

 

Dean refused to meet his gaze, instead stepping forward to the Knight of Hell. He fucking hated himself for this. Abbadon's scarlet smile turned into a full-fledged grin and she reached out, tracing Dean's jaw with a perfectly polished nail. Teasing him, prolonging the guilt that burdened his every breath. "Oh, honey. We are going to have so much fun." She murmured, then they were gone. Castiel arrived seconds later, only to find Sam curled up in a pool of his own blood and his friend gone. He healed the hunter and immediately started questioning him on everything that had happened.

 

"Why did you let him, Sam?" The angel reprimanded furiously, his fingers digging into Sam's newly healed skin, drawing blood. "I may have been able to pull him out of Hell once, but do you understand how physically debilitating that was? I required an _army_ of angels to help me, and now even my grace is borrowed." His voice was thick with anger, but Sam saw the thinly disguised terror in his eyes. Castiel cared for Dean, of course he did, but their 'profound bond' was a hell of a lot more profound than either of them let on. 

 

Sam smacked Cas's hand away, glaring at him. "He would've done it anyway, you know what Dean's like." He snapped, then his hardened exterior fell, leaving only a tired man in its place. "Look, we'll get him back, okay?" He muttered, leaning against a wall. His injuries were healed, but the angel hadn't taken away the exhaustion that weighed down his body. Castiel grudgingly agreed, though really he wanted to punch through the stone walls. Instead, he zapped the two of them back to the bunker, and retreated into one of the spare rooms to clean himself up.

________________________

They didn't get him back, not for a long time. The strained relationship between angel and hunter grew eventually. Without Dean around, Sam could finally communicate with Castiel and a lot of the time he held his undivided attention. They talked about hunts, and Castiel often asked Sam about human experiences. Some things he was able to explain, like when Cas asked why humans had pets or about his taste in music or even books. Some things he refused to talk about, unable to explain them because he simply didn't feel right about telling him when Dean would want to. It was nice to talk to someone who shared his interests and he learnt more about the angel in the three months that passed than he had ever. But the bunker was still, quiet without Dean's sarcasm and drunken laughter. 

 

Small things would send stabs of guilt through him, like when Sam reached for some whiskey in the alcohol cabinet, and found that the bottles hadn't been touched since Dean's departure. Or when Cas walked past Dean's bedroom one day to see Sam cleaning up, and Cas screamed at him because; "Dean won't like you messing with his belongings." 

 

Sam had pointed out that Dean might never come back, and the angel punched the wall above the bed's headboard. 

"I hear him, Sam. I can hear him." The angel had whispered, looking defeated in a way he'd never seen before.

Sam stared in surprise, unsure he'd heard correctly. "What?"

Castiel looked up with pain clear in his blue eyes. "Abbadon…" He choked out. "She's torturing him. I can hear him screaming, every second of every day, I can feel his soul. His pain… I don't know how you coped in the cage." Sam flinched, but he stopped cleaning up.

A week later, the screaming stopped.

________________________

Three months passed, and they finally got news. A group of demons led by Abbadon had been sighted a few miles from the bunker. So the angel and hunter prepared for war, gathering their weapons and planning for the ensuing fight. They awaited the demons in an old factory warehouse; Sam making traps and Castiel painting every helpful symbol he knew on the walls. 

 

Sam was carving devil traps into his bullets when the lights began to flicker. He paused, reaching for his demon blade as Castiel reappeared at his side. Somewhere in the warehouse, there was the clang of metal slamming into something, and a yell. The two waited silently, gun cocked and blades ready. 

 

________________________

 

 _Your name is Dean Winchester, you serve Abbadon. You are worthless, you are pathetic, you are poison. Your name is Dean Winchester and you serve me. Your only purpose is to capture and kill Sam Winchester and the angel Castiel, along with anyone who stands in your way. You are not merciful, you are not compassionate. You are poison_.

 

These were the words drilled into him since the beginning. Words whispered into his ears as knives cut into his flesh, as he burnt in the hellfire of the Pit. These were the only words he knew, and the only orders he would follow. He couldn't remember a time before these words, before the torture. 

 

He had begged Abbadon to let him be the one to do it. To kill the Winchester boy and Castiel. He longed for their blood to drip down his skin, he hungered for the snap of their bones between his hands. His entire being, the blackened remains of his soul, wanted to carve his name into their flesh and watch as the light left their eyes.

 

And now they stood in front of him. He watched the horror fill their eyes as he advanced, his pack of demons almost salivating at the scene before them. But they knew not to kill without his permission. Dean was the only one allowed to kill. 

 

The tall brown haired man --- he could only be Sam Winchester --- inhaled sharply, staring at Dean with unhidden shock. Then the surprise was gone, and in its place was anger. "Get out of my brother, you son of a bitch!" He snarled. Dean cocked his head to one side curiously. An image flashed in front of his eyes, and he blinked rapidly, but it was gone too fast. Forcing himself not to dwell on it, he returned to the task at hand. 

 

Dean gave the signal and the demons surged forward, eleven against two. The angel put up a good fight, slipping out of the demons' grasp and one by one eliminating his foe. He could hear the Winchester struggling against the others, so he turned his attention to the greater enemy. 

 

Castiel was gasping when he finally reached Dean, the light of his borrowed grace leaking out of a cut on his collarbone. The demon struck out at the angel, but his fist slipped through empty air. The offender appeared behind him just as quickly as he'd disappeared, kicking Dean's legs out from under him. The demon pulled him down as he fell, pinning the angel and grabbing the angel blade from his hands. 

 

Dean grinned, those black eyes of his drilling into the angel's blue ones. He traced the blade across Castiel's skin, reached down to taste the red line of blood that had formed. The angel's fierce determination faltered, and for a moment he ceased to struggle. 

"You're not possessed. This… this is really you." He said softly, his eyes widening. "Dean, you're a demon… I can feel it, your soul --- it's…"

Dean cocked his head with a curious smile. The angel acted as though they knew each other, but he was certain that he had never crossed this creature's path. He would remember… wouldn't he?  

Then he stopped. Abbadon's words flitted through his mind, but they were ghostly and paper thin, failing to grip his thoughts as they used to. Because he was inches away from the angel's eyes, able to see every fleck in the blue and every dark lash that surrounded them. Because Castiel was reaching up in desperation, resting his hand over Dean's left shoulder. And he remembered. The touch of an angel; that was all it took. 

 

He remembered the fire; not the flames of hell but the flames that had once swept up his mother in the nursery. He remembered carrying Sam --- Sammy out of that burning building, making a vow to himself at that moment to protect his little brother from whatever harm may fall upon him. He remembered all the sacrifices, the pain and the loss he'd felt when his father had died. He remembered Bobby and Ellen and Jo and all of the collateral damage that had been left in the wake of the Winchesters' life.

 

He remembered his mother singing Hey Jude to him, and the porcelain angels that perched above his bed. Stolen fireworks, watching the glow light the clearing and his brother dance among the flying sparks. He remembered scribbling his initials in the Impala --- oh, the impala. His baby, more than just metal on wheels; it was the place of relief and safety and his home. 

 

Dean remembered his bookish annoying brother, the brother he loved and protected with his soul --- because at this point, Dean's life didn't really matter, it was his soul that strived to take the fall for everything that came at Sammy. He remembered the tiny spark of hope that he always felt after a good hunt, knowing that another life had been saved and hoping that he was making up for all his wrongdoings. He remembered Cas confirming that; _Yes, Dean. You've redeemed yourself_ , and the feelings of warmth that had colored his cheeks and melted his heart at hearing those words from this particular angel, the angel who meant everything to him. 

 

His eyes closed as he remembered all this. And when they finally opened, it was not demonic black that claimed them, but rather a familiar green. Castiel --- _Cas_ looked on with amazement, cautious hope dancing on his features. 

"Dean?" He asked. 

The demon flinched at the sound of his name, and then he snarled, eyes flashing black once more. He rolled backward and stood as Castiel moved into a weakened crouch, though now he hesitated. One of his followers moved to attack the angel, mistaking his actions for permission, and Dean made a low warning sound. The approaching demon was unaware of her leader's confusion, holding the discarded angel blade as she slinked forward. He shoved Cas behind him, growling protectively as his instincts went purely animal. 

 

The memories were still fresh in his brain, but they were tainted with darkness; the love and protectiveness in his past felt like possessiveness and lust to him, the only way his new form could interpret those feelings without crashing into overdrive. The entirety of what had happened hadn't registered in his brain yet, and so he did what felt natural. He claimed Castiel as his. Abbadon's orders came through once again, but now they were mangled with the memories of his human life. _Your only purpose… Sam Winchester … Castiel… no mercy._

 

Dean wasted every single monster that threatened to come near his angel and Sam fought his way to his brother, confused but not questioning a miracle when he saw it. The demon with the angel blade had circled around while Dean was distracted, and she yanked Castiel backwards. Dean spun around at Sam's warning, just in time to see her drive the blade through his back. Cas screamed as grace poured out from the wound, and then he dropped to the floor. 

 

Sam swore he could see his brother breath flames as he advanced on the offender. He ran forward, sliding to his knees beside Cas. For a moment he felt dread pull at his insides, grieving for his dead friend and fearing what the new demonic Dean would do. But then Cas sucked in a shallow breath, and Sam breathed a sigh of relief as he felt the angel's weak pulse. When he looked up, all the demons were dead --- aside from Dean, who was standing in the middle of the bloodshed, breathing heavily. 

 

Dean lunged forward, pushing Sam aside as he kneeled over his angel. He lifted the bloodied man in his arms, and Sam registered Dean's sudden change from _kill-everything-that-moves_ to tender and careful. His brother carried the angel towards the exit, green eyes watchful of every one of the angel's breaths, only pausing to tell Sam to hurry up. He followed the demon outside warily.

________________________

It took Castiel just two weeks to fully heal. For the first three days, the angel remained mostly unconscious. Dean never left his side, other than to slink past Sam's room, checking to see if his brother was alright. When he couldn't find Sam, he flew into a confused panic, his need for Cas warring with his desire to guard his brother. Often he'd eventually find Sam sitting in the control room, or reading something nerdy in the library. Then his blind fear would settle down, and he'd tell himself to stop being so flustered because; demon or not, he sure as Hell should _not_ be acting like a traumatized mother looking for her lost child.

 

By the end of the week, Castiel was fully conscious and able to string the odd sentence or two together. When he spoke, it was to ask Dean what had happened to him, or question what Abbadon had done. Each time, Dean growled softly in warning or disappeared to find Sam. On Thursday, Sam caught Dean searching for him, and he all but cornered him in the library. They hadn't spoken since the warehouse incident, both tiptoeing around each other. Sam was happy to have his brother back, demonic or not, and he'd reasoned with himself that they'd sort things out when Cas was better. But he knew that was wishful thinking and something needed to be done about it.

 

"Move, Sasquatch." He snapped, pushing past his brother. He got two steps forward before he hit an invisible wall. Dean paused, glancing down and mentally cursing as he eyed the painted devils trap. "Oh c'mon, Sam. You wouldn't exorcise your big brother, would you?" He smirked.

Sam had already conjured up the biggest bitchface ever. "You're not my brother, I don't know who you are, but you aren't Dean." He said coldly. "You're a monster wearing my brother's skin."

Dean rolled his eyes, about to make a retort, but someone beat him to it. 

 

That someone was a blue-eyed man in a dirty trenchcoat. "You're wrong, Sam. It's Dean." He grunted, shuffling forward with a twinge of pain in his movements. 

Dean moved to help him, but found his path once again blocked by that fucking wall. He snarled, his black eyes glinting dangerously. Castiel walked over the line of the devil's trap, and placed a slender hand on the demon's forehead. 

 

The effect was instantaneous. Relief cooled the flames that were left over from his time in Hell, sating the bloodlust that rang in his ears and coiled in his gut. Dean's eyes flicked back to their pale green, then closed, his lips parting obscenely. The man leaned into the touch, making a noise that sounded almost like a purr --- something he would never admit to doing in a million years. Sam watched on with eyes like plates and Dean refrained the urge to tell him to shut the hell up, regardless of whether he was speaking or not.

 

When Cas finally removed his hand, Dean sagged into him, craving that soothing touch. Castiel groaned slightly, pushing the man back, and he remembered the angel's wounds. "Shit, Cas. Sorry, I forgot---"

Castiel brushed off the apology. "I was right in my theory, Sam." He said cryptically. 

Dean's eyebrows furrowed in suspicion and he backed away. The moment he lost contact with the angel, his eyes switched to black. "Theory? What theory?" He demanded. The monster in him was rearing its head, fighting for control. The demon snarled to himself, pulling at that lingering grace, letting it settle in his bones and cool his rage. Sam exchanged a glance with Cas. 

"In the warehouse, you calmed down when our skin came in contact. I speculated that my grace was having an effect on you. Perhaps, because I pulled you out of hell once, your humanity is linked to me." The blue-eyed man explained carefully. "You're not a demon in the true sense, you still have a soul. It's broken and blackened, but I can feel it when you're in contact with my grace. You're… humanized for a while."

 

"That doesn't explain the mood swings." Sam snorted. Dean glared at him, sending that trademark Winchester _shut-your-fucking-face-or-I'll-shut-it-for-you_ look in his direction. "You think I didn't notice the panicking? The running around like you'd lost a child? Dean, you're downright motherly half the time."

The demon scowled, but Castiel saved him from the embarrassment of answering. "You went to Hell, Sam. You know what that does to a person. Dean's emotions are being amplified by his recent experiences. "

 

Dean wasn't enjoying this one bit. He felt like he was being analyzed; a test subject getting poked and prodded at by two nerds. Because he felt like himself! Sort of. He had never felt this degree of bloodlust --- or possessiveness over the angel. In truth all Dean wanted to do was throw the trenchcoated man against the wall and have his way with him. Ok, but _that_ was just part of everyday life.

He ignored the monster's laughter that curled in the pit of his stomach, the jagged rasp that did not belong to him, and brushed his shoulder against Cas'. The monster's breath dropped away, leaving only his own beating heart.

 

The angel glanced over at his counterpart curiously, though he didn't mind the physical contact. It gave him the chance to delve into the darker edges of Dean's dying soul. He studied it all within the blink of an eye, noting the spots of light that weakened with every breath and the parts that seemed to glow in a way that was all too similar to Castiel's grace. It threaded through his soul like roots, anchored in and irremovable, ebbing and flowing with Dean's soul. But his grace wasn't the only thing grasping onto Dean. Dark shadows bled through the cracks like ink, slowly tainting the humanity in the hunter. He didn't have long until it destroyed his soul completely.

 

Sam looked between the two and his words flatlined. The younger Winchester really had no idea how to respond to that. He'd felt like a third wheel before and, despite Cas's claims that a third wheel added stability, now he was just blatantly awkward. All he needed was another reason for Dean to cling desperately to the angel.

________________________

That was how they decided that Dean was to stay with Castiel. It wasn't an immediate resolution; at first they just agreed to keep an eye on the wayward demon, but then Dean punched his fist through a supposedly shatterproof window and used the bloody glass shards to scrawl the same three words across the bunker walls.

 

_I am poison, I am poison, I am poison._

 

They found Dean at the brink of insanity, screaming in pain as the memory of a knife ghosted underneath his skin. Castiel took the unhinged man in his arms and told Enochian tales until he stopped crying. He healed his wounds and let his grace seep into his soul, joining the internal fight between demon and hunter, throwing his entire being beside Dean --- the Dean that Cas knew and loved --- and pushing with all his heavenly might. 

 

At first, Sam insisted on not letting Dean out of the bunker. Paranoid though it may have been, he didn't want his brother getting in contact with his former hellish companions. It lasted all of a week; Dean tiptoed from room to room, alternating between following Cas like a puppy or guarding his brother --- something that was really useless, considering the bunker was the safest place in the country. But he grew restless quickly and, just like the Dean of before, he wanted to hunt. The need burned in his blood and itched at his skin, until eventually he confronted Sam.

 

"I need to get out of here, Sam." He muttered, stalking across the library with eyes that were black in the absence of his angel. 

Sam looked over the mountain of books --- he was hunting a pair of Vetala --- and pressed his lips together. "No, you don't. I can handle this on my own."

Dean turned those colorless eyes onto his brother angrily. "I need to hunt, you asshat. Or at least let me go get some pie." He snapped.

"It's safer for you to be here." He replied, avoiding eye contact. 

Dean stopped, his eyes narrowing. "That's a load of bullshit and we both know it. You think I want to track down Abbadon."

 

The younger Winchester sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Don't you? Because I sure as hell do, but I'm human. I can control my anger. You…" He broke off, turning his gaze back to the dusty books. 

"I what? I can't control my anger? I'm still _me_ , Sammy." Dean snarled.

Sam flinched. "Don't call me that." He whispered, his eyes shutting. "I can't trust you when the only part of you left to trust is a demon."

Dean rocked back on his heels, the anger leaving his face as he stared at his brother. His eyes flicked to green again, and he fought to push the demon back. The hunter looked all of twelve years old again, scared and broken and unable to comprehend the calamities that seemed to follow him. And that hurt, knowing that his brother was breaking under the stress of Dean's problems. 

 

When Sam finally spoke, the fear was masked with calm, but he was determined all the same. "You can hunt with me. I don't want you within ten miles of a demon, but you can hunt with me." He met his brother's eyes over the table.

________________________

The hunt had been running smoothly, though every hour they spent away from Castiel, Sam could see the strain on Dean's humane side. He was fighting for control, and it was a losing battle. They'd tracked the Vetalas down to a rundown motel, and each brother had taken on one of the snake-like monsters. Dean should've been able to overpower the Vetala with ease, and he did. It was one of the perks of being a demon, and Dean used it to his advantage. But it meant he had to tap into the hellish side of himself, and once he was in contact with it, the humanity was shoved aside.

 

He paused, pinning the monster against the wall with one hand. The Vetala froze, eyes widening as Dean's gaze went dark. He pressed himself up against the creature, smirking as he carved lines into its skin with the silver knife. It screamed in pain, shuddering as he wrote his name in the monster's flesh. 

 

Sam was having a harder time trying to disarm his foe, and one look towards his sidetracked brother had him thrown to the ground. He called, shouted, screamed, but the demon didn't so much as flinch. The Vetala slinked up towards him, and all it took was one venom-packed bite to send him spiraling into oblivion.

 

It was Sam's fading heartbeats that allowed Dean to break away from the hellhound that prowled inside him. The maimed Vetala was sobbing under his blade, begging for death. He spun, killing the monster with one swift strike through the heart, and dove towards his brother. The remaining Vetala was inches away from feeding, and within the blink of an eye it was dropping to the ground, silver driven directly through the monster's heart.

 

When Castiel appeared at the scene, Dean was crouched in the corner, not letting himself get any closer for fear of losing himself again. The angel met Dean's gaze across the room, and he let out a long sigh; one filled with despair and knowing. Knowing of what Dean was going to do, what he was going to become, and what he was going to ask.

 

Dean knew that Sam would get better, he watched Cas heal him daily, but he couldn't help but feel like the venom running through Sam's blood was his. His fault, his stupidity, his poison. So when Sam finally fell asleep --- naturally this time, not because of the Vetala venom --- Dean approached Cas. He didn't even have to speak, the angel just nodded and motioned for the man to follow. 

 

"Abbadon rushed your torturing, she wanted you demonic as soon as she could, and that means she left behind some of your humanity. There's enough of your soul… enough of my grace _in your soul_ … that there's a small chance I could humanize you." Castiel explained slowly, his blue eyes cast onto the ground.

Dean answered softly, his expression dark with a curiously heartbreaking mix of determination and defeat. "Do it. I'm not going to sit here, watching Sammy… watching _you_ … get hurt because I'm too fucking gone to care." 

"Dean---"

"If you don't try, then I will go get that demon blade and then there won't be any chances. That's it, Cas. There is no walking the fine line." 

The angel's entire being thundered at that, and for a fleeting moment Dean swore he got a glimpse of that pure celestial intent. "Do _not_ threaten me with your death." He growled, his blue eyes barely containing to the storm that raged behind them. "There are a lot of things I will do for you, Dean. But you're asking me to kill you, and that is not one of those things. Your life is running on grace and darkness alone, if I take away the darkness… I can't be sure that you'll survive."

 

Dean met the angel's burning gaze. "Why does it matter so much? Sammy can take care of himself, you've got your juice back. You don't need me around anyway." He replied softly.

Cas turned his back to Dean, running his fingers through his hair. Dean took the silence as a sign of agreement, and sunk back into the chair. 

 

"You're right." The words broke through the quiet inside the room, and Dean looked up with a lump in his throat. "I don't _need_ you, Dean. Sam and I are both capable beings, we can survive without you."

Dean swallowed, nodding slowly as he averted his eyes --- because that fucking hurt to hear, even if it was what he'd expected.

"But can you push your selfish stupidity aside for a moment," The angel began suddenly, his voice choked. "And think about the fact that even though I might not need you, maybe I just _want_ you here?" 

 

It was the words of a dying argument. Castiel could still feel Dean's soul; shattered and almost lifeless, he could see it slipping away on every breath Dean took. Soon his humanity would be gone, and then there would be nothing but hellfire and bloodlust in the empty shell of the hunter. That was what made Cas agree to the procedure. He knew exactly what it was like to bring peril to your loved ones, begging to sacrifice yourself because the possibility of a bitter ending was inevitable. The Dean that Cas knew and admired would not hesitate to go, if it meant that he helped his family.

________________________

Dean didn't tell Sam, not even after he was fully conscious. Sam knew, of course he knew. He saw it in the resigned way Dean spoke, the utter loss of hope from Dean's expression. So when Dean asked him if he wanted to come for a drive, he could do nothing but agree.

 

They approached the impala, and then Dean did one of the most surprising things Sam had witnessed him do. He grabbed Cas' hand and towed him towards the front seat, away from the back where Cas had intended to sit. The angel watched curiously as he allowed himself to be shoved into the driver's seat. Dean climbed into the passenger seat, waiting for Sam to get in.

 

"You're going to learn how to drive." Dean said firmly.

Cas shot him a wry look. "I know how to drive." 

"No," Dean snorted. "You don't. I saw you in the pimp car, you were pathetic."

The angel blushed, and Sam watched Dean's battle-hardened features soften. He smiled slightly, knowing that Cas didn't understand the meaningfulness of Dean's act. He was letting this man, who knew shit all about driving, sit behind the wheel of his precious impala. 

It also occurred to Sam that Dean was trying to convince himself that the angel could take care of himself if he needed to escape. He was preparing for death.

 

It took nearly an hour before Dean let Cas out on the open road, the two Winchesters tutoring the angel. Finally, Dean leaned over and messed around with the stereo. Cas jumped slightly when music poured out of the car, before settling back into the seat. Dean grinned at him. "Go for it, Cas." He said, and the angel returned the smile gratefully as he drove down the road. Dean searched through glove compartment, digging for more music, and stilled suddenly. Sam noticed the abrupt change in his brother's body, and leaned forward.

"Sammy, look." Dean's voice came out quiet and rough. Lying in the bottom of the glove compartment, was a small green army man. He'd forgotten about it, but now the memories came flooding back. 

 

When they finally returned to the bunker, the sky was dark and Sam was half-asleep in the backseat. Dean smirked as he leaned over the back of the seat, shaking his little brother. Sam blinked in confusion. 

"I think it's your bedtime, kiddo." Dean chuckled, grinning playfully.

Sam grunted as he swung open the door. "Shut up, Dean." He muttered. "I don't suppose you're coming inside then." He looked at his older brother sadly, leaning in the window. 

Dean's smiled wavered, but he held onto it, for Sam's sake. "Not tonight." 

 

Sam nodded, his hand landing on his brother's shoulder for a fleeting second, before he turned and headed towards the bunker. The shadows pulled him closer, but in the impala's headlights Dean could see his brother pause and turn around. "Hey, Dean." He called back.

"Yeah, Sammy?"

Sam smiled, backing slowly into the shadows. 

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

 

Cas watched the exchange with a sharp twist in his stomach, because they all knew what was to follow. He started the engine with some reluctance, wanting wholeheartedly to get out and drag Dean's unholy ass inside. But he drove anyway, and focused on the sound of Dean's voice, singing along to the music. At first he tried to join in, but then his breath was swept away by the melody coming from the passenger seat and he couldn't bring himself to utter a word.

 

He drove and drove, only stopping when they reached a field, where they parked the impala. There, he watched as Dean got out and stood at the front of the car. The demon --- the _hunter_ sighed, drifting his hands along the polished black metal. For half a second, the black in his eyes took over again, but Cas's grace and Dean's soul had put up a good fight, and soon enough the green returned. 

 

Cas finally got out and stood beside his companion. The only noise came from the soft music playing in the impala, and neither would meet the other's eyes. "I'm ready, Cas." Dean said, his voice thick with emotion. 

The angel stared at him with wide eyes, and suddenly he felt like his world was crashing down. This was one emotion he'd never felt before; it was like someone had wrenched out his heart, set it alight. All that mattered was the strange creature in front of him; this surrendering man, the boy who'd become a soldier and fought Heaven and Hell. This was the man he'd pulled out of hell, and he was slowly crumbling away, turning to ashes as he slipped through Castiel's fingers. This idiotic, sarcastic, imperfect human that he'd come to love. 

 

"I'm not." He choked out, and then he was pulling Dean into a fierce embrace. "I'm not ready."

Dean swallowed at the lump in his through, burying his face in Cas's neck as he willed away tears. 

"It's okay, Cas. It's okay." He murmured, his fingers clenching at the angel's trenchcoat. They stood that way long after all the stars had come out, unable to move for fear that the world would shatter around them.

 

When the two finally broke apart, Cas shot him a meaningful look. "It's going to hurt a lot, Dean. There's no going back once I've started. If it doesn't work…" He trailed off, his voice breaking.

Dean just nodded. "I know, just try." 

It was just as agonizing as Castiel had warned; the darkness of Hell was sewn into Dean's fragile soul, and every thread that Cas ripped bare sent spasms of pain through the hunter. Some of the strands were so deeply embedded in the grace he'd left in Dean that Castiel himself felt pain ricochet through him.

 

It didn't work. Dean knew when Cas dropped his hand, and saw tears running down the angel's cheeks. It was so strange to see him cry --- Jimmy Novak had cried once, but never Castiel --- that Dean almost forgot that he was dying. He turned away, climbing up to sit on top of the impala. Cas stood motionlessly in the grass, his back turned and his entire body slumped forward. 

"Cas." Dean's voice came through broken and wrecked, but it was enough to make the angel turn around and join him on the impala. He wrapped the shivering hunter in his trenchcoat, all hesitation gone as he pulled the dying man into his arms. No more would he deny the feelings that surged beneath his facade of angelic calm.

"What if I'm sent to Hell?" Dean asked quietly, meeting Cas's blue eyes in the dark.

Cas pressed his lips against Dean's forehead. "Then I'll grip you tight and I'll raise your dumb ass out of perdition again."

 

Dean shuddered as pain tore through him. "Make sure you watch him… make sure you watch Sammy…" He whispered.

Cas gasped as he felt another part of Dean's soul break off, taking with it bits of his grace. This was much worse than anything he'd ever experienced; because this time it was pieces of him that were dying too.

He leaned down, brushing his lips against Dean's. The angel silently cursed himself for never doing this before, for waiting until the last moment to act.

 

"Tell me something." Dean whispered, his eyes slipping shut momentarily. 

"What do you want to know?" Castiel answered, willing to give away every secret of the universe if only Dean would be content.

"If I end up going to Heaven… when this is all over… will the angels let you see me?" The hunter asked.

Cas swallowed. "I will break down every door and wall that stands between us, Dean." He replied, burying his face in his hair.

 

They sat on top of the impala for hours, whispering broken words against each other's lips as the stars stood vigil. Eventually Cas insisted that they get down and wait inside the impala, but Dean shook his head fervently. "I want to stay up here." He mumbled.

 

The stars came and left, leaving only darkness for a while. Then the sun started to break over the horizon, and it looked as though God himself had painted streaks of gold and purple across the sky. 

Dean gazed up at Cas, his eyes half closed as he smiled tiredly. "Love you, Cas." He whispered.

Cas blinked away the exhaustion from his eyes because _no, the night couldn't have gone so fast_. He scrambled to try find a trace of Dean's soul, panicking when he realized that there was nothing left to save. "I love you too, Dean." He choked out. "I love you, I love you, I love---"

 

Dean's breath died on his lips.

 

It was their first kiss, and Dean's last.

 

_I love you, Dean._

 

Dean's heartbeat stopped.

 

The light left his green eyes. Sunlight crept over the impala, painting the pair in gold. Castiel had witnessed --- even aided --- in the deaths of many of his brethren. But never had he felt loss like this. Dean was turning to dust in Castiel's arms, and his wings curled around their bodies, not letting the wind sweep him away. He stayed that way long after the warmth left Dean's body, protected by a cover of grace and sunlight. 

 

"I'll see you soon, Dean." Cas whispered. "I'll see you soon."

 

 


End file.
